6. Bryan
6
brYAN
I decided to save Emma’s pre-made meals for another day. Dinner tonight was covered. I sent Amelia off to Mother’s where she could learn pristine and proper etiquette with a dose of attitude and bad manners.
Mother was nothing if not respectable, but she also forgot that people were humans, and she tended to be a little more elitist than I remembered as a kid growing up. Maybe she had gotten cranky as she got older. But she adored Amelia, and this took care of getting Amelia properly fed for the evening. I, on the other hand, was throwing myself on the mercy of some catering company who was sending over a cook.
The doorbell rang.
I pressed the ring cam app on my smart watch. “I’ll be right there,” I said without looking at the video.
I yanked open the door and stood frozen in place.
“Bryan?”
“You?”
Those big blue eyes blinked up at me. Nova, the perfect name for a goddess, was standing at my front door.
Reality rushed back in. I reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her inside before I closed the door. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I have somebody showing up for an interview, and I cannot have you here. Did you follow me?”
“What are you talking about?” She held out a small piece of paper and waved it under my nose. “You called and left your address. Said you were looking for a cook.”
I snatched the paper from her. It had three decorative Cs across the top, an illustrated cup of coffee, and a cookie across the top.
“That’s you?” I asked.
“Not really, but I was there and answering the phone when you called.”
“You didn’t follow me?” I wasn’t relieved, exactly, and part of me was a little disappointed that this woman hadn’t been so impacted by my presence to come seek me out. On the other hand, I kept dreaming of her and would have gone looking for her if I had known where to start.
“It’s been a couple of days, and I know we had a couple of drinks, but I left the hotel before you did. There was no way for me to follow you here.” She glanced up and around the entryway to my house. “Nice place, but I didn’t follow you. I’m here to cook for you.” She held up the canvas shopping bags in her hands.
“You’re a cook?” I asked. “I didn’t think you were a cook. What did you say you did?”
She smiled. My body surged with lustful energy as I remembered everything about her, from the curve of her lips, to her soft giggles, to the way she gasped for breath when I tickled under her ear.
“I don’t think I told you what I did for work, but since I’m here for what is essentially a job interview, that would be an appropriate question for me to answer at this point,” she said. “My name is Nova Castleman, and I am a first grade teacher at a private academy nearby.”
“Wentworth or Leeds?” I asked.
“Wentworth,” she responded calmly. “And I find myself in need of a seasonal job. When you called the catering company this afternoon, I answered the phone because everyone there had disappeared.”
“So you decided to come and cook for me?”
She pointed to the paper still pinched between my fingers. “I didn’t have a name, just an address, so I came to cook for somebody . The fact that it’s you…”
“That’s an awkward coincidence.”
She nodded. “Look, Bryan, um, if this is going to be problematic for you, I can go.” She started to turn.
“No!” I shouted. I didn’t want her to leave now that she was here. Nova, the woman from my dreams, was in my home. “I need somebody who can cook. Somebody who can pre-make breakfasts that are easy to heat up, prepare an appropriate Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner for a small gathering. And I only need them until January fourth when my regular cook comes home from her vacation.”
She blinked a few times. “Timing-wise, that’s ideal. I need to confess something.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“I only have two and a half weeks off from school, so your need for a cook for almost the exact amount of time couldn’t be more perfect as far as I’m concerned. I already brought the groceries. I’m here. Why don’t you let me at least make dinner for you, and then you can decide? After all, wasn’t that the whole point of having somebody come and cook for you tonight? Kind of an audition?”
“Let me show you to the kitchen.” I took a step back and turned, indicating that Nova should follow me.
“Will I be cooking for you and your wife?” she asked.
I could hear something in her voice. I couldn’t tell whether it was concern or nerves.
“I’m not married,” I said flatly. “The other night would not have happened if I were.”
“That’s good to know,” she said softly. “When you say Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinner? How many people are you expecting for those meals? You said small gathering.”
“Yes, that would be for three to four, potentially five, people.”
“So you’ll have guests?”
“Yes, my family will be in.” I felt uncharacteristically nervous answering her questions, even though her questions were to be expected from somebody who wanted to know more about their job expectation.
“Do you normally have a private cook? You mentioned she’s on vacation?”
“Yes, I have a cook and she has an assistant.” I don’t know why I referred to Shelly as her assistant and not my part-time afternoon nanny. But as far as I was concerned, until I hired Nova to cook, she didn’t need to know the specifics of my private life.
“So, this is the kitchen,” I said as I opened the door.
Nova let out a soft gasp, and while I knew the sound had nothing to do with anything I had done, my body reacted as if I had been responsible for that sensuous noise coming from her. My gut clenched, and I felt my balls tighten. I was convinced this was not going to work.
“This kitchen is amazing,” she said. “You only have one cook in here?”
“Usually.” I shoved my hands in my pockets.
“It’s big enough to be a commercial kitchen in a restaurant or something. This is fabulous.”
“Have you never worked in a large kitchen?”
“I have. But even that kitchen wasn’t as large as this. It was functional, stainless steel and white tiles. This is a beautifully decorated kitchen.”
“Well, thank you. I guess. The refrigerator is over there, stove, pots and pans.” I waved my arm around, figuring she could see everything she needed.
“I’ll get started, then, shall I?”
“I’ll come back and check on you. When should dinner be ready, in forty-five minutes?”
She held up her grocery bags. “More like an hour.”
I stepped out of the kitchen, letting the door close behind me. But I didn’t move. Could I hire that woman who had turned me inside out mere days earlier? We were never supposed to have seen each other again. What happened at that hotel was a one-time phenomenon.
If I had her in my house, would I be able to go on without constantly remembering the feel of her skin? She seemed to act as if it were no big deal, and if she could be professional about it, then I could be professional about it.
I ended up not doing much of anything for the next hour, trying to convince myself to stay out of the kitchen. I was too eager, like some kid who wanted to be near the action with a serious case of FOMO, fear of missing out. And in my case, it was fear of not being near Nova when I had an opportunity to do so.
“Your dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” she said without looking up after I pushed my way back through the kitchen door.
She was bent over checking something in the oven. I didn’t say anything, simply admired the view.
“Do you want me to serve you here? Or would you like everything to be plated and presented in the formal dining room?”
“The formal dining room only gets used during holidays and other special occasions,” I said. “Most meals are served in the kitchen.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” She gestured toward the kitchen table and chairs.
“Do you like to drink wine with your dinner, or are you a milk kind of person?”
“Water or beer,” I admitted.
“Hmm, I don’t think beer would go with these flavors.” She made another thoughtful noise.
“If you think wine would be appropriate, then please serve wine,” I said.
She continued to bustle about in the kitchen. She set a glass of white wine down in front of me first and then brought over the cutlery and set my place. Lastly, she set a plate down in front of me with the most amazing smelling meal.
“Smells good,” I said as I picked up my fork. I stabbed at the food on the plate. It was the consistency of a thick stew with a perfectly domed side of rice and roasted vegetables.
“Are these Brussels sprouts?” I asked.
“Yes, with a balsamic glaze.”
I took a bite. The vegetable was perfectly crispy, a little nutty with a tangy, sweet flavoring of the glaze. I took a bite of the main dish, still uncertain of exactly what it was.
“What is this?” I took another bite, impressed with the meal.
“Artichoke chicken,” she responded.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to assume… it’s not appropriate…” She trailed off. “I assume that as your cook, I would not be eating with you.”
I took another forkful of food. Everything was really delicious. I waved my fork at her.
“Please, make yourself a plate and come sit. We need to discuss the details of your employment.”